Vampires Overhead

by Alan Hyder

  Dusty Rhodes went over the bracken like a deer and, big man as he was, I don’t think his flying feet bent the blackened fronds.

  ‘It’s better like that,’ I said. ‘We couldn’t have shot him.’

  ‘Couldn’t we?’ queried Bingen. ‘Why not? He tried to do you in, didn’t he? Anyway, I’ll send a reminder after him to let him know what’s waiting for him if he comes back.’

  Coolly, as though preparing for a shoot at Bisley, Bingen dropped to the ground, arranged his legs comfortably, and took a couple of sighting shots. Then he went into action. With rapid fire he hummed bullets after the luckless Dusty, who dodged now as he fled with fear spurring his feet. Into the ground before him, behind, above his shrinking head and, I honestly believe, between his very legs, Bingen pumped bullets after the diminishing figure, while I held cartridge clips ready for him to reload. How on earth Bingen managed not to hit him, I do not know, but if Mister Dusty Rhodes wasn’t scared out of his life, I wasn’t weak from laughing. Janet, now knowing that tragedy had developed into farce, called to us.

  ‘Stop! Oh, please stop!’ She came down in the valley, running towards us with upstretched arms. She called again: ‘Don’t shoot him! Please! Let him go.’

  ‘It’s all right. He’s gone. Don’t worry about Bingen shooting. He saved Dusty’s life, and now he is helping him on his way.’

  ‘Saved his life, huh!’ Bingen grinned up at me from the ground. Dusty had disappeared over the hills and far away. Bingen got slowly up and stretched himself. ‘Saved his life! I dunno about that. If he isn’t just about dead with fright when he stops running, I never tried to shoot his socks off.’

  I laughed at him and called down to Janet.

  ‘We’ll be down in a minute. Stay there! Bingen, let’s get the bodies of these things together and burn them.’

  ‘Good idea. You know, Garry, I believe I’ve got over my fear of them. Over there, just now, when I found I could shake them off and throw them. I got confidence. Don’t think they’ll worry me any more.’

  ‘Of course they won’t. I gathered you’d tumbled to them, when I saw you come up smiling just now. Good man! We’ll take Dusty’s rifle and his ammunition back with us, and I’ll use his brandy to set these things on fire. Gosh! The brandy that fellow must have tucked away. This business gave him a chance to get what he wanted.’

  ‘And it looks as if it’s going to give one of us a chance to get what he wanted too,’ Bingen grinned slyly.

  ‘What the hell d’you mean by that?’

  ‘Aw! Nothing. Keep your wool on.’

  ‘Then don’t be funnier than you can help. Give me a hand to pile these things together.’

  We heaped the Vampires, covering them with dried fern fronds and pouring brandy over them. The bonfire burned clearly at first, and then gradually the flame dulled and a great plume of smoke towered into the sky. We watched it for a while, silently.

  ‘You know, Bingen, I’ve wondered for a long time. Do those things burn away in the flame, do they disappear, or doesn’t the fire hurt them at all? You know, in all the buildings we’ve been, there hasn’t been a sign of a dead Vampire. Yet we’ve seen them right in the middle of burning houses. I wonder if fire does harm them. They must have caused the fires. I wonder . . . Oh, hell! What’s the use of wondering? We’ll come back when this has burned out and see if those bodies have gone. Come on.’

  Later, after we had gone down in the valley and reassured Janet there was no possibility of Dusty Rhodes returning, cooked, and eaten a meal, I climbed back to where the bonfire had burned itself out. In the circle of burned bracken a pile of grey ash moved gently in the breeze. With a branch broken from a slender larch I probed, turned the ash, and in the white, under the grey, still glowing with heat, were the black bodies of the Vampires. They lay as we had piled them, unscathed! Their sleek bodies showing no sign of having been in contact with heat, and, as I poked with the branch, one of those horrible, decapitated heads rolled from the pile, bleak eyes regarded me, and under the skin upon the temple beat erratically a thin ribbon of pulse.

  I killed it!

  So my premonition that they came unscathed through fire was correct, and with the certainty of the knowledge I felt physically sick.

  Lanes ran from the bonfire through the bracken, burning fitfully. I stamped and beat them out. The Vampires had attacked Dusty and Bingen. Did that mean they were . . .?

  Back in the valley, I was subdued, and Bingen spoke to me several times before I heeded.

  ‘What! What was that?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Bingen queried. He jerked his thumb to the hills. ‘They gone?’

  ‘No. They weren’t touched at all.’

  ‘Well, both of us thought that all the time, didn’t we? No need to let it upset us.’

  ‘Yes. We both thought it, but the confirmation is a bit upsetting when you think it over. Still, as you say, no good worrying over it.’

  ‘What are you two talking about?’ Janet asked curiously. ‘Have what gone? And what did you know?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ I answered her, and lapsed into silence.

  It was some time before I spoke again. I stared reflectively at Janet.

  ‘Janet, you know all the Vampires haven’t gone yet,’ I said. ‘Well, I think now, after they’ve attacked Bingen, we’d better keep a sharper watch out for them than we have been doing for the past few days. Until today, I was convinced that the few we’ve seen flying overhead, and the few which have visited us, were just odd stragglers, and that the main body had gone. But now, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘No! You were right. They have gone. All but a few,’ Janet spoke decisively. ‘I’m sure they’ve gone. I feel they’ve gone. There are only a few left and, soon now, they’ll be gone too. Oh, I know it.’

  I looked at her shining eyes as she tried to convince me. She was so sure. I hoped that she was right, and later events proved her to be correct. Days there were when huge swarms of Vampires flew effortlessly overhead, days when we saw but a few, and then days when we saw none at all. Those which attacked Dusty Rhodes and Bingen were the last we actually came in contact with. Several flights dropped to squat in the valley, watching the barricaded cave, but we did not interfere with them and, unable to touch us, at last they went away. The weeks went by, they grew scarcer and scarcer until at last we were convinced Janet had been right, that they were going, and now had gone. We felt the world we knew was free of them.

  They came . . . destroyed man and his works, burned the land, drained it dry of humanity . . . and left. Those who must come after may comprehend, perhaps. We, who lived under them, do not. Never will, I think. We can only surmise. And I, who have attempted this record of events, have tried hard to avoid conjecture, imagination. I have attempted the telling of this, our story, as a bare record of fact and event.

  In the cave that night, after we had disposed of Rhodes, I lay awake, pondering upon the outcome, speculating on the future.

  By my side Bingen lay snoring lustily, and behind the partition which had replaced the curtain Janet slept. At least, I suppose she slept. What would happen to the three of us? Would there be trouble between Bingen and myself over the girl? I could not tell. Fervently, I hoped against it. Later, if things went as they had been going, and let us three see we were the only survivors then . . . if Janet chose. That would dispose of any future trouble. And it looked to me as if she had already chosen, preferred Bingen. Undoubtedly. So apparent it was that she preferred his company. And Bingen . . . was he to be trusted with her? I tried to appease my wondering with thoughts that somewhere would be other people. That, later on, we would find, maybe, an elderly woman who would befriend the girl. Was Bingen to be trusted with her? Was I? The Vampires. Would they appear again? Twisting, circling, my brain dwelt upon the future and the past, until I tried to stop thinking, turned upon my side, trying vainlessly to sleep. All that night I lay awake, thinking, thinking, until, to my relief, dawn light came steali
ng through cracks in the barricade. Softly, to avoid wakening the others, I slid the barrier ajar and went out into the morning. As yet, the dawn had not dispersed the shadow in the valley, and I watched the skies lighten over the hills.

  Gradually the pathetic cottages, standing emptily with burned walls and tumbling roofs, swam from the dusk into the lightening dawn while I leant, smoking, against the garden wall. Another day with the world gone up in flame and smoke, leaving three survivors hidden fearfully in a cave, contemplating only the provisions they could salvage and who was to have the girl! I flung my cigarette away, watching the glowing arc of its fall, and then, with the morning born, pulled water from the well, icy cold, to douse gloominess away.

  ‘Been thinking about the girl and couldn’t sleep?’ Bingen’s voice came unexpectedly to me as I towelled vigorously. He dipped his hand in the bucket. ‘That’s the stuff to take those thoughts away, m’lad. Cold water for hot desires. Here, after you with the bucket.’

  ‘For Gawd’s sake, Bingen,’ I answered morosely, while he turned the windlass. ‘Can’t you forget she’s a woman? This isn’t any time to flirt about, or rather, try to . . . You know what I mean? Hell! Why don’t you try to treat her as a child. Anyway, until we get somewhere where it’ll be different. Where there’s someone able to look after her.’

  ‘She’s a woman. She’s old enough to look after herself.’ Bingen eyed me curiously. ‘We can’t forget that. Neither can she. Not unless she’s queer. And she certainly isn’t queer. If things go like this, us living here together, she’ll have to choose one of us. We can’t live here, like two eunuchs waiting on a harem beauty. At least, I can’t, not without providing evidence to the contrary.’

  He laughed and bent over the bucket.

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ I agreed with him at length. ‘Actually, I expect, I’ve known it all along, but . . . I hadn’t the courage to realize. Yet the very idea of you or I, Bingen, living with Janet while the other hung around . . . is incredible.’

  ‘Of course it’s incredible,’ Bingen grinned at me. ‘Where’ll you be off to, Garry?’

  ‘What about breakfast,’ I said surlily, ‘and forgetting this, until we’re forcibly reminded about it.’

  ‘You’ll be forcibly reminded of it, just as soon as I get a chance.’

  ‘And you’ll be getting that beating up Dusty Rhodes was nearly getting. Come on, let’s go and see about some breakfast.’

  Together we walked slowly across to the cottage, and then Bingen halted.

  ‘Listen!’ he whispered. ‘D’you hear anything?’

  At first I did not. Then to me came the slithering sound of pebbles rolling beneath somebody’s softly treading feet. Someone crept, but the betraying pebbles rolled down the hill.

  ‘What’s that?’ Bingen dropped the towel from his shoulders, sprang back towards the cave. ‘Get the guns. Quick!’

  My rifle was in the cottage, and walking backwards, watching the hilltop from where the noise came, I retreated towards it. With loaded gun, I peered through the window. Across the yard I could see Bingen watching. We waited. Above, on the hill, the noise ceased.

  Once, in the silence, I heard a stone roll, tumbling down into the valley, but we could see nothing, so that, after some minutes of waiting, Bingen gestured nonchalantly there was nothing to be afraid of, and walked from the cave into the yard. He lit a cigarette and, while his hands were shielding the flame of the match, a rifle on the hill crackled and echoed through the valley.

  Bingen dropped as though he had been poleaxed.

  On the hilltop, among the heather in the clear morning, there drifted a little cloud of smoke. My eyes fixed balefully upon the spot. Rhodes had come back. Bingen lay out in the yard. I hoped to God Janet would not dash out to him. Rhodes would kill her too.

  ‘Janet! Janet! Stay there. Dusty’s up on the hill.’

  She did not answer, but the silence was broken sibilantly. I heard a whispering voice.

  ‘It’s Dusty. Go and get him. I’m all right. He only creased me. If I move, he’ll shoot.’

  Bingen’s voice! For a moment I did not understand. He was lying in the yard, and, by his side, the cigarette he had dropped sent up a little spiral of smoke.

  ‘You all right? Thank God! Bingen, I thought he’d got you.’

  ‘He has got me, you thundering idiot. But I’m all right.’

  ‘How long can you stay without moving?’ I whispered. ‘If we can stick it, he’ll start to come down. Then I can get him.’

  ‘I can wait. S’long as he doesn’t see me breathing. Gosh! I can feel a bullet smacking into my back every minute.’

  I looked at Bingen. His shoulders lifted gently. I wondered if Rhodes could see the movement from up on the hill. If Bingen moved, I felt that Dusty would not miss again! Peeping cautiously, I could see no sign of Rhodes stirring about the spot from where cordite from his rifle had burned to smoke. There was nothing we could do except wait. Janet in her cave; Bingen flat on his face in the yard; myself crouched by a window in the cottage; up on the hill a demented drunk with a cocked gun. It seemed we waited hours silently, minutes dragging slowly were days. I spoke softly to Bingen again, and he did not answer. Lying under the hot sun, he had fainted. Something must happen now, I thought, and stared vengefully upwards, and as I stared, Dusty moved. Easing slowly above the heather his shock head rose, peering down, and yet I dared not shoot. Upwards, from an awkward position, the shot was too risky. This time there must be no mistake. While I waited, Rhodes knelt, stood gradually erect, with rifle aiming down into the valley, until the whole of his figure stood boldly against blue sky. Probably he thought, if that drink-smothered brain of his allowed him to think at all, that I was away, that the girl and Bingen were alone. And he thought he had killed Bingen! Presently, as though satisfied, though still he kept his rifle pointing ready to shoot, Dusty began to climb down into the valley. At the bottom he hesitated, then, assured of safety by silence and the motionless figure on the ground, tucked his rifle under his arm and walked towards the cave. I heard him swearing, mumbling savagely. He spoke louder, called.

  ‘I come back proper this time. Proper. ’N now for the girl. C’mon, lass. Where are you? Dusty’s come back for you.’

  He clambered over the wall, and when he turned towards the cave I stepped from the cottage. Called vibrantly.

  ‘Rhodes!’

  My finger curled about the trigger, squeezed. The bullet hit him in mid-air as he jumped to turn. The big tramp swayed, dropped almost over the body of Bingen. I shot him again, walked towards him.

  ‘’Ad to come back.’ Dusty’s voice came hesitatingly. Blood dribbled about the stubble on his chin. I had to bend to hear. ‘’Ad to come back. Get the girl. Getcher s’well. But . . . you got me. . . .’

  He died then.

  ‘Oh,’ Janet cried, as she came slowly from the cave, and the accusation, as she stared at me, dropped my eyes before hers. ‘Garry!’

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ I answered her reproach shamefacedly. ‘It couldn’t be helped. It was either Bingen or me, or Dusty.’

  ‘But to kill him.’

  She went to where Bingen sat rubbing his head tenderly and knelt beside him. He grinned at me as he put an arm about her. Then he jerked and scowled as her fingers touched his forehead, wiped the trickle of blood away.

  ‘And so he should be killed,’ Bingen growled. ‘See this? He creased me so closely it’s a marvel it ain’t me dead, instead of him.’

  Glad of an excuse to break away from the accusing tension, I bent to examine Bingen. Raising his hands to light the cigarette had saved him. The bullet nicked his forearm and ricochetted on to his temple. A scratch an inch long on his brow and the slight cut on his arm were all Bingen could show in the way of wounds. Leaning with his head on Janet’s shoulder, he grinned at me aggravatingly while she made a fuss of him, bandaging his ridiculous scratches. I pulled Rhodes on to my shoulders and carried him over the hill, tossing him carelessly
to the ground.

  ‘Garry, old son,’ Bingen greeted me teasingly when I returned. ‘You’re going to get in bad for that murder. She thinks you’re a cruel man to have done it.’

  ‘I’d have been several kinds of a fool if I hadn’t done it,’ I told him tersely. ‘Where would you have been now if I hadn’t bumped him off?’

  ‘Not sitting pretty like I am,’ Bingen grinned. ‘Anyway, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Bumping off a nice little lad like Dusty. How could you do it? You nasty cruel man!’

  I swore at him and, as we went for breakfast, glanced through the window to see Janet wipe tears away from her eyes as she bent over the fire. Crying over Rhodes! All that morning she treated me with excessive politeness, joking conspicuously with Bingen until, after dinner, I flung on my equipment and announced my intention of going exploring. I reached the top of the hill before Janet relented.

  ‘Garry!’ she called after me. ‘Garry! Wait a minute.’

  I waited for her to climb to me and, down below, Bingen sat scowling on the yard wall.

  ‘Well. What is it?’ I asked her.

  ‘Garry! Please forgive me. I’m sorry,’ she cried, and then was in tears and in my arms. ‘I was only upset because it was you who killed him. I wish Bingen had. Forgive me, Garry.’

  ‘You wanted Bingen to do it?’ I stared down at her, uncomprehendingly. ‘Oh, I think I understand.’

  She wished Bingen had killed Rhodes, saved her, and as she looked up at me with swimming eyes I cursed beneath my breath.

  ‘It’s all right. I understand. I’m sorry. But I couldn’t help it. If he hadn’t been killed, it might have meant you being alone with him. He would have killed Bingen and me. He might have killed Bingen. Then, where would you have been?’

  ‘Where would I have been if he had killed Bingen?’ She broke from my arms suddenly, looking at me with eyes sparkling from tears. She dashed her hand across her face and turned to the valley again. Over her shoulder as she climbed down she flung back at me: ‘You’re a great fool, Garry.’